


Stars

by forgotten_silence



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-03 23:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17293376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgotten_silence/pseuds/forgotten_silence
Summary: A series of dramione drabbles.1. Malfoy is dying.2. He had never needed to be brave. Until now.3. In which Hermione gets roses.4. Home is where the heart is





	1. Chapter 1

It was fitting that he was dying under the stars, Draco thought. He had forgotten how brightly they shined. Forgotten the smell of grass, the cool, fresh breeze that carassed his face gently. How easy it was to get swept up in silly, human things and to forget the simple beauty of nature. He should have looked at the stars more. He should have.

“Daddy?” A moment later, his view of the glorious night sky was blocked by two wide-eyed faces. “What are you doing here?”

“Get away from me, children,” Draco raised a hand to push them away, only to let it fall back to his side. “I’m contagious.”

“Kon-tay-gus?” Asked Scorpius in a puzzled voice.

“It means he will give us his sickness, silly,” said Rose, red hair bouncing as she sat up on the balls of her feet.

“Are you sick, Daddy?” Scorpius leaned over him again.

“I am,” replied Draco. “Don’t get too close to me. The two of you should go back to the tent.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

At that, Draco felt his calmness start to fracture. He had resigned himself to death, but now, with the two children looking at him with their wide, curious eyes, Draco felt sad.

“No,” he told them, swallowing a lump in hid throat, “ I’m afraid I might not make it.”

He watched as his son’s eyes start to fill with tears, and wondered whether it had been a wise thing to say. Probably not. But in his feverish haze, it had seemed better than lying.

“Mummy!” He heard Rose yell as her footfalls faded. She had gotten up from beside him and run towards the tent. “Malfoy’s out in the grass mummy! He’s dying!”

Next to him, Scorpius had started crying in earnest.

“You have to be strong, Scorpius,” he told his son sombrely. “Your mum and Hermione will take good care of you.”

“I d-don w-w-want you t-to di-iie!” Scorpius sniffed through his tears.

“He’s not going to die, love,” he heard Granger’s voice say a moment before she dropped beside Scorpius and wrapped her arms around him. “Your daddy just has a little fever, and a penchant for the dramatic. He’ll be fine.” She wiped away Scorpius’s tears and glared at Draco. Rose stood at Granger’s shoulders, biting her lips.

“Is Malfoy really going to be okay, mummy?” She asked.

“He’s fine love,” said Granger, “Just a bit of flu, just like you and Scorpius had a few weeks back. Now, go back to the tent and take Scorpius with you before the two of you catch a chill.”

Rose Weasley looked at Granger, then at Draco, her mouth a grim line. But she seemed to believe her mother, because she took Scorpius by the shoulder and ushered him away, whispering in his ears about how her mummy was always right.

“Really, Malfoy?” Granger did not look happy. “You told the kids you were dying?”

“But I  _am_  dying,” Draco said sadly.

“You’re not dying. Stop being so melodramatic,” Granger rolled her eyes.

“I’m not being dramatic, Granger, I have ebola. The google said so.”

“The google?” Granger asked incredulously. “The google, Malfoy? Have you been googling your symptoms on the internet?”

“I just asked The Google on your plastic thing-”

Granger groaned. “You can’t believe everything you find on google, Malfoy, especially not about your health.”

“ _You_  are the one who insists on asking The google everything!”

“That is different.”

“How is it different? If The Google can magically tell you how to get from one place to another, then how can it be wrong about me?”

“Honestly, Malfoy!”

“You tell me, Granger. You swear by The Google.”

“You don’t have ebola, Malfoy. And you aren’t dying.”

“You will be sorry when I do. You will be so sorry, Granger, when you find out I have ebola and I died with you refusing to believe me.”

Granger rolled her eyes. “The only thing you are going to have if you keep lying here, Malfoy, is pneumonia.” She got up. “Come back to the tent Malfoy. The kids and I are going to drink hot chocolate and sleep.”

“New more near?” Draco repeated. What did she mean by that? “GRANGER! YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME HERE!”

He was going to have to ask The Google.


	2. Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had never needed to be brave, until now.

Draco was a lot of things. He was a pureblood from one of the oldest wizarding families. He was good looking with a fortune to fall back on if his looks failed to impress. He was charismatic. In fact, Draco was fairly certain that he was more charming than Potter could hope to be if he turned into a golden-haired Unicorn. 

But Draco was not brave. He had never needed to be brave growing up, and he hadn’t bothered with it much afterwards. Bravery was for foolhardy people like Harry Potter and his lot who had no choice but to be brave because they didn’t have anything else.

Draco had never needed to be brave. Until now.

“Go on, Draco,” Parkinson hissed, giving him a discreet little shove which was not discreet at all because it nearly sent him stumbling into the middle of the cobbled street, right in front of one Hermione Granger, who looked up at him in surprise.

Draco blinked.

“Malfoy?” Granger’s left eyebrow rose as she came to a sudden halt in the middle of the street. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Her voice, however, suggested that she would find no pleasure in whatever he was about to ask. He didn’t doubt this.

_What a horrible idea this is._

_“Ahem,”_ Draco cleared his throat and adjusted his hat. Granger’s eyebrow rose again and she tilted his head as if to say ’ _well, I’m waiting. I haven’t got all day_ ’.

What a  _stupid_  idea. 

“Well?” she said. This time, out loud.

“Granger,” he said. It was better to drink the potion in one gulp, as his mother was fond of saying. “You can have dinner with me.” 

 _That_ didn’t come out as he’d planned.

He watched in fascination as both of Granger’s eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs and then receded until her forehead was scrunched up. “ _What?_ ” she said, “I don’t want to have dinner with  _you_.”  _You, of all people,_  her face said, _you foul, evil loathsome little git._

“Geez, Granger,” Draco said, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m only asking you out for dinner.”

“That is not what you said,” she replied, crossing her arms. Her eyes were as brown as he remembered. How could brown eyes look so fascinating? “What do you want, Malfoy?” 

“I just told you what I wanted,” Draco said. There was a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, the kind that told you that this was indeed  _a very bad idea_.

“ _Why?_ ” Granger asked, “Is there a reason why you’re trying to trick me into this? If you’re planning to bribe me about the House-Elf bill-”

“Bloody hell, Granger,” Granger was unbelievable, “I don’t want to bribe you. I don’t give a rat’s arse about your stupid house-elf bill!”

“Then  _why_ are you asking me to dinner?”

For the smartest witch in her generation, Granger sure was dense.

”Because I fancy you.” 

There. 

He’d said it. 

Parkinson had better be happy about this- this– Oh, how humiliating. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Granger’s face, so he kept his eyes on her shoulder, on which hung a heavy looking leather purse, which didn’t look bad, actually. He supposed right about now, Granger’s eyebrows would be back on her forehead after being buried under her hair, and her face would be contorted into a look of pure disgust.

“Right,” she said finally, “We’re not in school anymore, Malfoy. I don’t have time for your little mind games.”

 _Mind-games._ Was that what she thought this was? Mind games? He’d bared his heart and soul to her, and she thought he was playing with her? 

‘ _Pfft, Draco,’_  Parkinson had told him,  _‘I know girls. You just need to tell them how you feel.’_

That had worked out fantastically, hadn’t it? 

Draco forced himself to look at Granger’s very brown eyes and sneered. “Whatever,” he said, and with what little dignity he had left, he turned on his heel and walked back the way he’d come, past Parkinson (there was no way he was going to speak to the bloody woman after what she’d made him do), his head held up.


	3. Roses

“My mummy,” says Rose importantly, “does not like roses, Malfoy.” She shakes her head disapprovingly at the bunch of roses he has placed on the counter.

“Really?” Draco raises an eyebrow at her direction. “What does your mummy like, then?”

“She is an inter-inter-lackshual. Mummy doesn’t need roses.”

“It’s a shame I bought these then. Maybe I should chuck them in the bin.” Draco reaches for the roses.

“No!” Rose shakes her head and stands on tiptoes to place her hands on Draco’s. “You can’t throw them away! That is wasteful. Mummy hates people who are wasteful.” She looks at him reproachfully.

“What should I do with them, then?” 

“You could give them to me!” Rose says, as if the idea had just occurred to her, “I could put them in my doll-house. And near my window.” She beams at him expectantly.

“You want the roses?”

“Only because mummy hates roses and you mustn’t waste them.”

“I know for a fact that your mummy loves roses.”

“She does  _not_.”

“Does too.”

“Does not.” Rose prods Draco with her finger, as if to further prove her point.

“Aren’t you her little Rose?” Draco asks, squatting down to her level and ruffling her hair.  

“That’s stupid, Malfoy,” she says, angrily brushing away his hand. “I’m not roses. I’m a girl called Rose.”

“Your mummy is still getting these roses.”

“She will hate them,” Rose crosses her arms and glares at him.

“You can have one rose.”

“I don’t want one rose.”

“How about two, then?”

“I want ten.”

“You can’t have ten.”

“Five roses and that is it.”

“Seven.”

“Fine.”

Draco picks up Rose and places her on the counter, and watches as she picks out seven of the biggest rose from the bouquet. He helps her wrap them up in paper and watches as she runs out of the room, a small bouquet of roses in her hands.

“Mummy!” he hears as her steps fade up the stairs. “Mummy! I got you a gift! Mummy, Happy birthday!”

Yep. That little girl was going straight to Slytherin.


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is where the heart is

It had started out like this: Granger in an awful muggle wedding dress, too frilly for his taste, mind you, and himself looking smart as ever in a set of Sir Grecian dress robes.

Then there was that awfully cramped apartment of hers with just one room.  _One room!_  Ha! He’d expected a library, at the very least. But there had only been a bookshelf. It was bare and white with more glass than walls, really, that he’d wondered at how Granger maintained any sense of privacy. 

“Quaint,” his mother had said, and he knew it was the politest thing she could find to say about the place.

And so began the obstacle course of trying to navigate through his marriage in the tiniest box he had ever lived in. It was fine, he’d tell himself as he tried to sleep in the glaring light from the dining room table. It was fine, he’d tell himself when he bumped his elbow inside the muggle shower-box. _It was fine,_ and surprisingly, Draco found that it was. Before long, he could navigate through the room without accidentally tripping over things, he could sleep to the tap tap of Granger’s pen against the table. He found that he only minded slightly that Granger took more than half of the bed.

But when they got back from the Healer’s office a few months later, Draco had to put his foot down. 

“We are moving,” he declared, “This room isn’t big enough for another person.”

“It’s an apartment, Draco.”

“I only see four walls and one exit. It’s a room, Granger.”

“Not all of us grew in a castle, Malfoy.”

The house they finally managed to agree on was much, much smaller than he would have liked. It had only two floors and just three bedrooms, one kitchen, a living space that doubled as a dining room, and no private garden. No gazebos. Not even a small pond or a Quidditch pitch. It was no place to raise a child in, but Draco did agree that the house was much spacier compared to their previous one room, and it was located in the beautiful countryside, and yes, he could play Quidditch in the empty field next to the lake ten minutes away from the house.

Granger settled into the house like a cat does to an empty box. She made quick work of their front yard, turning out the sparse ground into a bed of flowers and a small vegetable patch. In the mornings, he woke up to the smell of freshly baking bread, or cakes, or cookies, because Granger had taken a sudden liking to baking. In the afternoons, all the little neighbourhood ladies sat in their living room, munching on Granger’s baked goods and gossiping with voices that should have been too frail to gossip. At night, he tossed and turned in their empty bed, waiting for Granger to finish up her work in the small library they had made of the third room.

He had never thought he would, but Draco found himself missing the small room he’d lived in before. He missed always having her around, he missed doing different thing in the same room, side by side. He missed how close the small space had brought her to him. This house with its three rooms and gossiping visitors seemed too large for just the two of them.

He need not have worried. Soon enough, the house was ringing with the noise of not one, but  _two_ infants, who took it upon themselves to compete in screaming matches in the early hours of morning. Then they became old enough to direct their screaming into words. Gradually, the house seemed too small for the four of them, especially if he and Granger wanted any quiet at all. 

“The Manor is all yours’,” his mother told them, “Why don’t you move in? You and Hermione won’t need to worry about finding daycare for the children anymore. You can’t keep flooing them over to Molly Weasley or me every morning.”

“Your mother is right, you know,” Granger said one night, from the twin bed across him. Tonight, the children had decided that it was simply unfair that mummy and daddy got to sleep in the bigger room.  “Maybe it’s time we moved into the Manor. It would certainly be more convenient for everyone. We wouldn’t need to get up so early in the morning, or wake the children up at night when we come home late.”

“Are you sure?”

“Does your family really keep white peacocks?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m sure. Besides, I’m tired of having to lug books back from the library.”

It was with a heavy heart that Draco agreed. Malfoy Manor had stopped being home so long ago, when the Dark Lord had decided he rather liked the looks of it and given himself an open invitation to the house. He knew that the first memory Granger had had at his house hadn’t been pleasant either. So he was surprised when Granger suggested the move. 

Rose and Hugo loved the old house. They adored the white rabbits and peacocks Mother kept as pets, loved their grand, separate bedrooms, and simply how much mischief they could get into in a house of that size.

Granger settled into Malfoy Manor in much the same manner as she had to their first house. If she recognized the room she had been tortured in, she gave little notice. Perhaps that was partly due to the fact that he had taken upon himself to tear down the room and completely change its entire design and purpose shortly after they had decided to get married. She loved the kitchen in the manor, although it would be a bit of a stretch to say she could cook as well as she baked. Still, the house elves humored her. 

Best of all, Granger loved the library that came with the house. It was there he would find her at the end of a busy day, curled up on one of the armchairs with a mug of steaming cocoa in one hand a book propped open against her legs.

Home, Draco had come to realize, was less of a place than the people you had in your heart.


	5. Dinner Dates

“Malfoy.”

“Granger.”

“Thank you for taking the initiative to invest in the welfare of magical creatures.”

“My pleasure.”

“I must tell you though. I was very surprised when you reached out to me. You, of all people. I... don’t mean to sound judgmental, but, why are you really doing this, Malfoy?”

“It may have escaped your notice, Granger, but I, too, am human, and thus, require sustenance.”

“Come off it, Malfoy, don’t be so dramatic. You know what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just answer the damn question, Malfoy.”

“What question? Ooh! Granger, the lobster is marvelous. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to try it?”

“I’m fine, Malfoy. Stop changing the topic.”

“Who is changing the topic?”

“Why are you investing in my research?”

“Because I care for your cause, obviously.”

“Well, I’m not sure you do.”

“Then why would I be investing?”

“Because you have an ulterior motive.”

“Come on Granger. Can’t I do something from the goodness of my heart?”

“No.”

“You know me, Granger. I’m a philanthropist.”

“Actually, Malfoy, I  _don’t_  know you.”

“Well, then, no time like the present to get to know me, yeah? Are you sure you don’t care for the lobster?”

“Stop this.”

“If I knew muggles cooked so well, I’d have started going to muggle establishments years ago.”

“Why are we here, Malfoy? Why did you insist on a muggle place?”

“Because they have excellent seafood.”

“Honestly!”

“So Granger, how about we go and see one of those weird moving muggle pictures after this?”

“Movies. They are called movies.”

“Fine. Why don’t we go and see a movie after this?”

“Why would I go and see a movie with you?”

“Because that is what people do on dates.”

“This isn’t a date, Malfoy.”

“I’m sure we can amend that. I’ll even buy you flowers. Or jewelry. How about that? Would you like that necklace we saw on the way in?”

“Malfoy, stop it.”

“I think it’ll look absolutely stunning on you.”

“Stop being weird, Malfoy.”

‘I’m not being weird. I’m hitting on you.”

“Stop this- this charade.”

“This isn’t a charade.”

“You don’t even like me Malfoy.”

“But I  _do_  like you.”

“No you don’t. So stop this- whatever this prank is-”

“Granger, you never listen.”

“-I swear if Harry is in on this-”

“I’ve been trying to tell you I like you for the past three months.”

“Nope.”

“Granger, are you okay? Why do you look so red.”

“You- you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“But-”

“Why do you think I send you roses every week?”

“To get back at me.”

“Why would someone  _send you roses_  to get back at you?”

“I don’t know. You weren’t happy about the House Elf bill.”

“You’re impossible, Granger.”

 

 

 

 


	6. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for an exactly 100 word drabble challenge so its, uh, 100 words and very short.

This was harder than I thought but a lot of fun. Here goes:

“It takes a special kind of idiot to pull off what you just did.“

"I know.”

“Your parents are going to be furious.”

“Yep.”

“Malfoy!”

“Yes, Granger?”

“Stop looking so damn pleased with yourself!”

“But I am.”

“I swear to God, Draco. What are we going to do?”

“The idea is to live happily ever after, I think.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“What were you even  _thinking?_ ”

“That I really like how the fire lights up your face. You look beautiful, Granger.”

“Draco, you just burnt down your home!”

“The Manor isn’t my home, Granger. You are my home.”


	7. Hair

It could have been worse.

He should have known better, Draco thought with a grimace. 

But the thing was, Granger was the smartest witch of her age. Granger knew things. Obscure facts. Which great Wizard had battled against which muggle superpower in which year. She knew how to garden. She crocheted. 

So when she’d said she would cut his hair, he simply hadn’t considered she couldn’t. Now he had a glaring bald spot right above his forehead, and a smaller one to the right, above his ear. 

He couldn’t to understand how she had so catastrophically failed to cut his hair with a charmed muggle contraption she’d insisted she’d used at least a dozen times. 

“I don’t see why you are so upset, Draco.” Talk about the devil and there they were. 

“Really, Granger? You can’t be that dense.” Draco glared at Granger through the mirror. “But wait, I seem to have miscalculated how smart you are.”

“It was an accident,” she said with a sigh, leaning against the door frame and running a hand through the thick mane of her hair, which was still attached to her head. “I already told you-”

“That you’d charmed it with an anti-hair growth charm? Or that you’d never cut hair with it?”

“Draco, you know I didn’t do this on purpose.” she reached her hand to brush her hand through his hair,unsuccessfully trying to flatten his remaining hair to hide the bald spot. “I’d really forgotten about the charm. I used it for my legs, you know, and-”

“Granger, shaving your legs aren’t the same thing as giving a hair-cut,” he said, shrugging off her hand and turning to face her. 

“It would look better if you would just shave your head.”

“No.”

“Draco, you’ll be really handsome-”

“No.”

“You can definitely pull it off-”

“I-” said Draco through clenched teeth, “Don’t- want- to- be- bald!” He pushed past her in a huff and went straight to bed, tugging the comforter over to his side. 

“Honestly, Draco, you are just overreacting.”

“Why don’t you try shaving your head, Granger? It will go well with your cold heart.” With that, he pulled the covers over his head and snuggled deeper into the bed. He heard her sigh again before the bathroom door shut and the sound of the shower running drowned out her voice.

He was still too upset to sleep when she came out of the bathroom. He heard her feet tip-tapping about the wooden floor, lightly humming an off-key tune. How had he trusted someone who couldn’t sing to cut his hair? That, Draco would never know. 

Finally, the bed shifted under her weight, and he felt her get under the covers. Childishly, he pulled the covers further towards his end even as they pooled on the floor on the side of the bed. 

“Come on, Draco, you can’t be that mad.” He felt Granger’s fingers tap lightly against the covers. “Draco.” She tried again when he wouldn't budge. “Look at me.”

Suddenly, she yanked the covers off of him, and Draco was forced to look at her, towering over him like a giant, her lips curled into a smile, and her uncontrollable mane of hair conspicuously absent. “So, how charming do I look? Does it go well with my cold heart?”

“What the fuck did you do, Granger?” He scrambled up on the bed and grabbed her by her shoulders, eyes scanning frantically across the expanse of her very bald scalp.

“I figured we’d be bald together.”

No. Draco thought in dawning horror. Not all that beautiful hair. He’d always liked her hair, even as he complained about it. It was bad enough that she’d cut his hair. Now neither of them had hair.

“Don’t look so aghast, Draco. It’s going to grow back. Just like yours will.”


End file.
